


The Mattress Police

by elderwitty, squidgie



Series: Snow Problem [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderwitty/pseuds/elderwitty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/pseuds/squidgie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weather delays can lead to surprising destinations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mattress Police

**Author's Note:**

> There is a continuation of this storyline in another fic called "[The Coffee Connection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/410544)".

Very little actually gets accomplished on the days Atlantis gets a databurst from Earth, because of the personal messages that are transmitted.  John makes his way to Rodney's lab, planning to drag him away his latest downloaded distraction so they can get lunch.  Now that Rodney's single again, John is back to spending as much time with him as they used to, pre-Keller.  Mealtimes are a favorite, even though it's also something of an ordeal.  He sits across from Rodney to prevent his fingers from wandering, but then has to endure ecstatic expressions when there's chocolate pudding, which is often.  There's nothing to be gained by imagining his straight best friend's sex faces. 

John strides into the lab and finds Rodney engrossed in something on his second favorite laptop.  "Jesus," the scientist intones.

"What?" John asks as he starts up the computer next to Rodney.

"It's..."  Turning the screen so John can see the number that more closely resembles a home remodel estimate than a normal amount of accrued leave, Rodney says, "I think I need a vacation."

John pulls up his own new messages.  "I haven't looked at my paycheck in months."  He focuses on the screen, checking his own astronomically high leave stats when Madison Miller's voice fills the room. 

" _Hi, Uncle Meredith_."

John abandons his email to watch Rodney beaming at the video.  " _I'm graduating from grade five, and I want you to come.  Mommy says you have lots of vacation_ -"

She trails off as Jeannie leans into view, hair askew and a flour-dusted mixing spoon in hand.  " _Yes, Meredith.  You have plenty of time, and Madison only graduates fifth grade once, so.._."  Jeannie aims the spoon and a stern look at the camera, ignoring the cookie dough that plops onto some unseen surface below.   " _You'd better get your butt here, Mer.  I'm giving you four months notice – that's **plenty**_."

"Like she knows my schedule," Rodney crabs to John.

" ** _I know you can take the time, Meredith_** ," Jeannie booms, making Madison laugh and Rodney do a double-take at the screen.

" _Please , Uncle Meredith_?" Madison implores with a doe-eyed pout.  She leans in to turn off the camera and Rodney hears her wonder if she should have asked for a present, before the screen goes black.

"Well, now," John says.  "Looks like you've got plans."

Rodney opens a new window to check his bank account.  "I guess I do...  Hey, you wanna come with?"

~*~*~

Two weeks later, everything's been arranged (by that tiny, terrifyingly efficient guy who runs the Gate at the Mountain).  Rodney and John have first-class tickets via Salt Lake City to Vancouver, where they'll spend three weeks at the Miller home.  John insisted on spending ten days in Hawaii after Vancouver, with Rodney protesting about jellyfish swarms, skin cancer, and even the possibility of native rebellion (John nearly pulls something, he laughs so hard). Rodney finally concedes despite the blustering, giving John a flicker of hope.  After all, Rodney never even mentioned them splitting off into separate vacations. 

Re-reading their itinerary late at night, John thinks that this vacation might be just what he needs.  Not only will the time away do him good (there's nothing like surfing the North Shore to make you forget about life for a while), but it also means a month with Rodney.  And - with DADT gone - maybe, just _maybe_ , he'll be able to overcome a career of _not_ telling, and ask for what he really wants.  Which is Rodney.

The weeks until their dial out drag, but the day eventually arrives.  John smiles at Rodney as the sequence finishes and the gate-splash reflects around the room.  They step through together, Rodney tossing John a grin as they approach the event horizon.  Moments later on Earth, John can feel his shoulders unclench with the knowledge that they have four-plus weeks together, with no distractions (John is still laughing at Rodney's expedition-wide email of the night before - which plainly pointed out that unless Atlantis is simultaneously on fire, sinking, blowing up, in the middle of a plague, _and_ being attacked by zombies, they are **NOT** to be bothered).  He salutes at Sam Carter, smiling as she says, "Welcome home, gentlemen.  We have a car up top to drive you to the airport.  Better get a move on - your plane leaves in ninety minutes."

~*~*~

John settles into the deep leather of the Airbus A318 seat, sighing contentedly.  "What's the problem, McKay?" he asks a fidgeting Rodney.

"It's just...  I'm used to _you_ flying."

"I guess we could head over to the Air Force Academy.  I'm sure O'Neill could get me a V22 Raptor.  But no drinks," he says as the flight attendant comes by with glasses of orange juice, champagne, and water.  He grabs water for Rodney and champagne for himself, tossing it back and announcing, "And now it's too late...  I've been drinking."

"Oh, ha ha," Rodney replies, abandoning his glass on the seat console as he grabs a magazine from his bag.  "Like _you_ haven't flown a jumper after half a jug of Athosian Ale."

John pulls the emergency preparedness card from the seatback pocket in front of him.  "I wonder if Airbus figured out inertial dampeners yet," he says, smiling sweetly at Rodney, who mutters, "Jackass," under his breath.

~*~*~

The flight is quiet for the first hour but gets bumpy as they near Salt Lake City, a winter storm tossing the plane around like the snow flurries outside their window.  The other passengers applaud their gratitude and relief upon landing, and the Captain and crew apologize to the passengers as they deplane.  (Rodney just nods toward John and says, "I've flown with him; nothing scares me anymore.")

They exit the jetbridge into the terminal, where the morning light is nearly obliterated by the snow blowing against the windows.  "We're gonna be delayed, I just know it," Rodney grouses.

John heads toward an airline employee holding a sign that reads, 'McKay/Sheppard'.  "I'm John Sheppard, and he's McKay."

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but your flight to Vancouver has been cancelled due to the storm.  I've been charged by your...travel department," he says, with audible air quotes, "to get you booked into a hotel, and re-accommodate you on the next possible flight."

"We're on a schedule.  How long will that be?" Rodney asks, pointing to the snow blowing sideways outside.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Dr. McKay.  It could be a couple of days.  This is a particularly nasty storm.  Would you come this way, please?"  After a stop at baggage claim, he leads them out to a waiting limousine.

John climbs in first.  By the time Rodney gets settled, John has already found the hidden minibar and is playing with the television and radio.  He looks up in time to see their escort lean in the front window and say, "Grand Americana Hotel, please," before stepping away.

"Wow, the IOA went all out," Rodney says.  "I bet we get a dump of a room, though."

"I'll take care of that," John promises, handing Rodney a Kit Kat from the limo's stash before pouring himself a scotch.

Limousine unloaded and driver tipped, they make their way into the lobby.  They aren't the only ones stranded, as evidenced by the multitude of people milling around.  They wait their turn at the desk, where a freshly-scrubbed girl (who looks about sixteen) asks if she can help them.

"I believe someone made reservations for us?  John Sheppard and Dr. Rodney McKay," he says, leaning into Rodney slightly.

Naomi, according to her nametag, types into her computer while looking at John and Rodney curiously.  She types again and frowns before saying, "We don't have much left due to the storm - just a few rooms we only use in dire circumstances."  Handing over two sets of keys, she warns, "They _may_ be a little noisy.  Dr. McKay, you're on the west side at the end of the third floor."  She points on the map to a tiny room that seems to be next to the hotel laundry, "and Mr. Sheppard, you are-"

"Now wait a minute," Rodney blusters.

John pats Rodney's chest, "I'll take care of it, honey," he says, winking.

" _What_?" Rodney asks, looking at John as if he's grown a second _and_ third head.

"I'm sorry, Naomi," John says, leaning in.  "Didn't they tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

John shakes his head and pulls Rodney in.  "We're on our _honeymoon_ ," he says, leaning his head against Rodney's.

"Awww," the clerk says, clutching her hands to her heart and beaming until Rodney blows the moment, huffing, "Get _off_ me, Sheppard."

John just rolls his eyes and pulls some money out of his wallet.  "Why don't you go get something from the gift shop while Naomi and I take care of this.  Okay, Sweetie?"

Rodney glares at John and Naomi before snatching the money, muttering something about needing a drink as he stomps off.

"He really doesn't like PDAs," John says confidentially, making her smile.  "Are you _really_ going to separate us on our honeymoon?"

Naomi shakes her head and grabs back the keys, saying, "I'm so sorry about the mix up, Mr. Sheppard."  After a bit more typing, she gets a new set of keys made and hands them to John.  "It's our Presidential Suite, but if you'd be so kind as to join your..."  She gestures towards Rodney.

"...husband," John says with a smile.

"-husband in the bar for a drink, we'd like to freshen it up for you."

"Absolutely," John says.  Suddenly he's surrounded by bellmen who take their luggage and disappear toward the elevators.

John smiles at Naomi and heads into the bar, throwing a proprietary arm across Rodney's shoulders as he sits on the stool next to him.  Circumstances are letting him do what he's wanted to for years, though he reminds himself not to let it to go too far.  "Hello, Rodney," he coos.

Rodney shakes his head and belts back the rest of his drink while John motions for another round.  "So what, we're _married_ now?"

"Hey, it got us a better room, didn't it?" John grins.  "Besides, I couldn't take two days of you bitching about weird smells and having to listen to industrial washing machines."

"Whatever," Rodney says.  "Can we go now?"

"In a few minutes.  They're getting our suite ready."  He picks up his drink and sips it, appreciating the good scotch.  "Naomi said that they'll come get us."

~*~*~

Two drinks and twenty minutes later, Rodney seems calmer and John has a comfortable buzz accompanying the warmth in his stomach.  A youngish man in hotel livery approaches them.  "Excuse me - Dr. McKay?  Mr. Sheppard?  I'm Chad Ashland, manager of the Grand Americana Hotel.  May I show you to your suite?"

John takes Rodney's arm, ignoring the look he throws while mouthing 'manager?' "Sure, Mr. Ashland."

"Please, call me Chad," the manager cordially corrects as they board the elevator.  "Your suite comprises the entire thirty-seventh floor.  You'll use your key in this panel to access it; you won't have to worry about being disturbed."  Chad inserts his master key and presses the _Presidential Suite_ button.  The elevator starts its ascent with such thrust that the warmth in John's stomach is almost left behind on the ground floor.  "Thank you for choosing our hotel for your special occasion," he says, smiling at both of them.

It's the only time on the trip that John feels guilty, though he tries to bury the feeling while pulling Rodney closer to him.

The elevator doors open into an opulent living room area, with a full bar, multiple televisions, and enough overstuffed couches to seat every person on Atlantis.  "I must apologize," Chad says as he leads them in, "that due to the storm, you won't be able to use your balcony."  John looks over to see a four-foot high (and growing) snowdrift outside the french doors.

Chad takes them on a tour of their luxurious accommodations, through the second bedroom and the dining room, another area for entertaining, the master bedroom (where rose petals are strewn across the bedspread and carpet), and the master bathroom.

"Look at that _tub_ ," Rodney enthuses.  He tears his eyes off it for a second to steal a glance at John.  "I mean...just _look_ at it!"

John and Chad finish the tour, leaving Rodney marveling at the enormous bath.  Back at the elevator, the manager presents his card with a flourish, saying, "This is my personal cellphone number.  If you need _anything_ \- day or night - please do not hesitate to call me.  My staff and I are at your service."

"It's _huge_ ," floats in from the bathroom.

"Thank you, sir," John says, shaking hands.

"My pleasure," Chad says, pushing the ground floor button.  "Enjoy your stay."  And with the closing of the elevator doors, John is finally alone in the suite with Rodney.

Snooping through their room, John finds their clothes hung up in the master closet, and blushes when he discovers four kinds of lube and six kinds of condoms in each bedside table.

"Wow," Rodney says, finally tearing himself away from the bathtub.  "You could get lost in here.  You know," he adds, "if I'd have known we could get away with this, I would have fake-married you the last time we came to Earth."  He focuses on the bed, seeing the rose petals and John holding a roll of condoms and a bottle of lube.  "Ummm...  What if they...  You know?" he asks.

"What if they _what_?" John asks, hastily putting the supplies back.

"What if they find out we're lying?  That we're not really honeymooners?"

"How the hell would they do that?"

"I don't know..." Rodney sighs.  Motioning to the bed, he says, "They could bring a black light and... You know... Look for stains.  Like they do on all those crime shows you got Teyla hooked on.  Or if the, the stuff in the drawer isn't opened."

"Rodney," John says, "I hardly think they're going to check if we had sex."  John watches the tips of Rodney's ears go pink, takes a deep breath and adds, "But if you're really worried, there _is_ an easy way to take care of that..."

John looks at the bed, then at Rodney with one raised eyebrow and a leering grin.  As Rodney's cheeks go pink, John edges in front of him and slowly pulls him closer, hesitantly watching his reaction.

Looking deep into Rodney's blue eyes, John quietly says, "You're a scientist, so I'm going to do an experiment.  Okay?"

Rodney's breath is shallow, but he nods.  John leans in and kisses him tentatively at first, before sliding his tongue between those slanting lips and swallowing the moan that escapes.  He lets his hands roam down Rodney's back, cupping his ass before he breaks off and takes a step back.

He grins at Rodney, standing there with his eyes closed, the tent in his khakis signaling his obvious arousal.  John clears his throat and Rodney opens his eyes.  "So...  Success?"

Even as he blushes, Rodney lifts his chin challengingly and replies, "Actually, to be considered successful, an experiment has to have replicable results."

John hauls Rodney in and kisses him again, letting his hands wander freely while Rodney does the same; raking through John's hair and cupping him through his pants.  John moans as he tips them onto the bed.

John rubs his erection against Rodney's while they kiss feverishly and try to remove each other's clothes.  Frustrated, he stands up to strip off; shirt flung toward the couch, his pants and boxers puddling at his feet.   Hearing Rodney whimper as he strokes the length of his cock makes the long wait worth it.   He kicks his feet free and covers Rodney like a blanket, alternating between kissing him and pulling at his clothes.

"Fuck," Rodney says when John tweaks his nipples.

"Now we're talking," John agrees as he finally divests Rodney of his pants.

With both of them fully naked, John crawls up to grab lube and a condom from the bedside table.  Rodney takes the opportunity to lip at the cock dangling above him.  John freezes, before slowly fucking into Rodney's mouth and whimpering at the sight of him fisting himself with his eyes closed.  "Fuck, that's hot," he moans.

Rodney responds by encircling the base of John's dick with one hand, while the other starts playing with the rim of his asshole.  "Here," John says, reaching back and applying a generous amount of lube to Rodney's finger, which immediately pushes past the tight ring.  "Oh, fuck," John whimpers, leaning back to work it deeper.

Not letting John slip out of his mouth, Rodney grabs the lube and opens John up as quickly as he can.  After rolling the condom down his length, he guides John's hips back and kisses him deeply.  Rodney pushes John down while simultaneously thrusting up, burying himself to the hilt in one motion.

"Oh, Jesus." Rodney watches John, head thrown back with one hand on his cock and the other on Rodney's hip for balance.  "You are so hot," Rodney says, as John's powerful thighs lift him again and again, Rodney's cock impacting his prostate on each downstroke.

John clenches around Rodney, making him hiss in pleasure.

Rodney takes a nipple in each hand and pinches them as he pushes up into John.

"I'm not... I can't..." John groans.  He pulls at his cock feverishly until he freezes, crying hoarsely as ropes of come paint Rodney's chest.

John's orgasm tightens his passage, pulling Rodney closer to his own climax.  Rodney flips them, somehow managing not to slip out of John's ass.  He presses his sticky chest to John's and claims his mouth while John wraps hairy legs around his midsection.  John pulls Rodney in deeper with his strong calves and ankles until he finally tumbles over the edge, coming so hard he's still seeing spots as he catches his breath.

They're twined together in a mess of limbs and bodily fluids.  John finally separates them, looking down at the sticky mess in his chest hair.  Standing on wobbly legs, he grabs Rodney's arm.  "Come on.  Shower," he commands.

"No shower.  Tub," Rodney corrects.  John smiles his agreement and marches bare-assed into the bathroom to start the water, throwing in some bubble bath to make it interesting.  He stands there gazing down into the water until Rodney quietly pads in behind him, pulling John close.

"So's this better than sleeping by yourself next to the laundry room?" John asks as he steals a kiss.

Rodney says, "Oh yeah."  After another kiss, he grins. "Best fake-honeymoon _ever_."

  



End file.
